The First Rule of Flying & Other Related Concepts
by ViaLethe
Summary: They all came on board for different reasons, but they each stay for the same one.  One emotion, nine different perspectives, nine different connections.


Pairings: Wash/Zoë, but mostly this fic ships _Serenity_/ the crew.

Timeline: Everywhere from pre-series to BDM.

Disclaimer: Words are mine (minus the lines from _Serenity_), world ain't. The brilliant _Serenity_ script belongs to Joss Whedon and Universal Pictures._  
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><p><em>The First Rule of Flying<em>

_and Other Related Concepts_

xXx_  
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_Love._

xXx_  
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It's the truth, that he's been out of the world a long time. Too long, perhaps, since he's finding this such a trial.

Or maybe that's God's way of telling him it hasn't been long enough.

He hadn't originally wanted to leave the abbey, made quite a protest of it to the Abbot. But the man had insisted, looking at Book serenely, hands folded in his lap.

"You've been here at the abbey a long time now. Don't you think it's time you went out and did God's work, brought His word and His comfort to those who could use it?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Book had said slowly, the older and more suspicious parts of his mind wondering if he'd done anything to upset the Abbot of late. "You know why I came here. You know how hard I've worked, I think, to turn myself into a man worthy of the title of Shepherd."

"I do," said the Abbot, not unkindly. "But what is a Shepherd without a flock? Your journey doesn't end here. You have a kind of belief that's remarkable, a gift. It shouldn't be hidden away here forever."

His belief is strong, that's for certain. It's kept him alive all these years, in one form or another. Shifted to be something new when old beliefs showed themselves false, pulled him out of depths he didn't know he could sink to and above himself time and time again.

That's how he doesn't really understand why it's taking such a beating here, on a ship with less space and fewer souls in her than he's used to. Surely that ought to make things easier, ought to mark out a path for him all the clearer. Instead he's found himself doing things he swore he'd never put his hands to again. Stealing, lying, inflicting harm and violence on people.

He thinks he's doing these things for good reasons, for the best. But then, that's what he'd told himself before, wasn't it?

He's always known belief is a complex matter, not as easy as saying a prayer or reading a passage. It's something that has to be worked at. God doesn't give easy answers. No, belief is about finding the answers for yourself, justifying your actions in your own heart. There will come a day, he knows, when he'll no longer be able to put emotions above morality, when to stay here among these people who've grown so dear will be to risk slipping beyond recall into old habits best left forgotten. But at least for now, he's secure in the knowledge that belief and love are two pages in the same book.

xXx

_You can learn all the math in the 'verse,_

xXx_  
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He had always had a plan. When his parents presented him with a baby sister, his first thoughts had been of how she would fit into his days, how long it would take before she'd make a suitable playmate.

It had taken far less time than he'd thought, in the end. River had a way of upsetting plans, right from the start.

That would be why he's standing here now, on a ship he's not entirely sure is spaceworthy, with a bruised face and a knot in his stomach, holding his naked and panicked sister in front of a group of strangers who'd mostly like to kill him.

He never thinks about holding himself together. It's a trick he learned early in his time at the MedAcad, the first time blood was seeping from an open wound and he was expected to fix it on his own. If you just focused on the task in front of you, detail by detail, everything else would drop away. The rest of the world would wait. So he focuses himself on River, on soothing her, and he focuses himself on Kaylee and healing the damage he's inadvertently caused.

Kaylee thinks he wouldn't have let her die, that he's too good a person for that. But she's wrong, and he knows it. For love, there isn't a thing in the 'verse he wouldn't do for River. Even if it means flying blind, fleeing the wreckage of every one of his broken plans.

xXx

_but you take a boat in the air that you don't love, _

xXx_  
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He didn't have to take this job. Could've been flying a lot of other ships, better ships. People were willing to overlook personal eccentricities, like a fondness for shirts that could be seen for miles and a penchant for talking to toys, when you'd come out at the top of your class and had the recs to back it up.

Well, okay, _almost_ top of the class. Point was, he could have been off on a fancy cruise ship somewhere, having drinks with little umbrellas in them when he was off duty, instead of sitting here with the bland and yet still unpleasant aftertaste of protein in his mouth.

But if he was someplace with a better variety in dinner options, he wouldn't be here, sitting in the same room as a woman who's so damn gorgeous he feels like his eyes are gonna bug out of his head if he looks too long.

Or she might make them bug out by force if she catches him staring. But that'd be pretty much okay with him too.

"You really think you're going to be able to teach me anything new? I grew up on a ship. Know a good bit about flying already," she says, her voice doing that whole cool-with-an-edge thing. He wonders if it's something about carrying a gun at your hip that gives you mastery of that tone. Needless to say, he doesn't have it.

Over the top jokey though, that tone he's got down pat. "Oh sure, you know the simple stuff, takeoffs, landings, rabbiting. But can you pull a barn swallow? A crazy Ivan?" He grins over at her, leaning back in his chair. "A slippery Mickey?"

She looks at him a long moment, and it's hard to catch – he's never met a woman he'd less like to play poker with – but he's sure there's just the slightest flicker of movement around her mouth. "You're makin' that last one up."

"Am not!" he protests. "Well, maybe I am. But here's the thing – how are you gonna know? Go ahead, ask me, I got it all plotted out up here," he says, tapping his head lightly.

"You are one audacious little man, I'll give you that," she says, standing up to walk away. It's a damn shame to give up that view, make her turn around again, but he's not quite ready to let her go just yet.

"Hey, where you going? Mal said you were supposed to learn to fly this baby."

"Honestly?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "I just can't stand looking at that caterpillar on your lip one second longer."

Standing in front of his mirror later that night, becoming intimately acquainted with a razor, he keeps nicking himself cause he can't stop grinning at the memory of the blatant challenge on her face. Mother of God, but he loves this job.

xXx

_she'll shake you off just as sure as the turn of the worlds._

xXx_  
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He's not planning to stay. People ain't to be trusted, he knows that well enough. Hell, he _is_ that. And these people are near as dumb as his last crew, and twice as gullible, even if they do smell more like soap and less like piss.

Ship's a piece of _fei wu_ too, can't hardly be worth the parts makin' her up. Oh sure, she's in good enough repair to keep flyin', they ain't that dumb. Still, he's damn sure his stay on this boat's like to be short as the time he spent in school.

Strangest gorram thing though, how the months keep on going by and he's still here in the same old bunk, still working their jobs and shooting _for_ them 'stead of _at_ them.

Funny how he punched a guy in a bar the other day, not cause he'd bugged Jayne in any particular way, but just cause he'd been talking at that cute little mechanic in a way that made her look all nervous-like and unhappy.

And it's real odd the way he follows the Captain's orders without even thinking on it. Sure ain't cause he likes the man, Mal being all kinds of a sentimental fool. But he does kinda like the way Mal never turns 'round to make sure Jayne's doing what he asked. Ain't been often in his life that people been willing to turn their backs on him when he's got a gun drawn.

Then there's those women. All of 'em miles too good for him, he knows that. But it's nice how they don't look down their noses at him, not even the fancy whoring one. He's been living in a world of men too long, maybe, that finding a woman willing to make conversation with him without wanting to be paid seems so special.

It's real damn strange, the way he's not planning on staying 'round long. Cause now he's somehow found himself crafting out a special place in his bunk for what he loves more'n anything in the 'verse, kept safe right over his bed. Yup, it'll be a hell of a shame to waste all that work when he gets off this boat. It'll be one of these days, sooner or later. For now though – money's too good, he tells himself. It'll have to be later.

xXx

_Love keeps her in the air when she ought to fall down._

xXx_  
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She had taken the shuttle because she liked the ship, quite simply. Oh, she had wanted to escape the Core, travel to the edges of the 'verse, that was true as well. There were other ships she might have taken, nicer ships, ships crewed by people who looked less likely to engage in criminal gunplay at the drop of a hat. But she had liked the air of the firefly, the graceful lines of her. Liked the way the ship seemed like a home, comfortable and well traveled. A good place to keep secrets.

She hadn't expected to become friendly with the crew, especially after that first prickly negotiation with the Captain. A Companion was, by her very nature, set apart from the crowd. The allure of mystery could not be understated.

And yet somehow, they'd found their ways into her heart, one by one. Kaylee came first, bright and bubbling with curiosity and warmth, her open nature delightful after Inara's lifetime of thoughts carefully concealed by heavily painted eyes. Then Wash, his cheerful voice her last link when leaving _Serenity_, and the first bit of home to greet her on her return.

Zoë had taken a bit longer, until Inara realized her quiet stoicism wasn't a cover for disdain, but rather Zoë's way of keeping a watch out on the world. A few choice remarks, a joke shared over a cup of tea, and a quiet bond had formed.

Jayne – well. He learned quickly to respect her, and from a man like him, that was more than enough.

And Mal, who she'd thought so prickly at first, so crude and ill-bred. He's proven himself over time to be all of those things, yes, but also far, far more. So very much more that she's found he infuriates and terrifies her at the same time, lights a spark in her that she calls on, increasingly, when her clients fail to measure up.

It's been nearly a year now since she first made her plans, and she's beginning to grow tired, her secrets threatening to catch up with her. Every Guild-mandated physical tells her the same thing – _You're doing about as well as can be expected, Miss Serra. I'm very sorry that there's nothing more we can do for you here _– and then she's on her way again, her drug supply restocked, able to keep herself going for just a bit longer.

Now there are new passengers on board, new souls for her to reach out to. The Priestess at House Madrassa always said her generosity would be her downfall, that a good Companion gives of herself but holds more back.

Inara has never been as good as she's meant to be at holding back, believing that the love you receive must be equaled by that which you give.

xXx

_Tells you she's hurtin' 'fore she keens._

xXx_  
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Isn't like the fixing bits of machinery part's anything new to her. Been doing that since 'fore she can remember, big old bolts and wrenches her favorite toys when she was little. She's mucked 'round at her daddy's side for years now, getting a handle on all sorts of engines and systems. If it's made outta metal and wires, it speaks to her, tells her just what the problem is without her hardly needin' to ask.

Bein' so alone though, that is something new to her. She ain't never realized before setting off on this boat how loud home was, what with her whole family taking up every bit of space 'round her all the time. Up here, out in the black, it's even too quiet for her to get to sleep.

That's why she sets up that hammock in the engine room, so's at least she's got the engine talkin' to her as she's drifting off. Adds a nice bit of color too, which is somethin' the ship's in sore need of.

Givin' the kitchen a shiny bit of decorating helps some with that, even if it does make Mal yelp when he first sees all her pretty painted vines. He glowers at her for days after, but he don't insist she paint over it again, and that's something. And it makes things look so much happier. She swears the engine even purrs a mite smoother.

Still, she makes sure the lights she strings 'round the door of her bunk aren't permanent, any more than the sign she makes up to hang on it. Ain't no sense in risking Mal gettin' mad at her again when she don't have to.

_Serenity's_ not mad, though. She tells Kaylee all her secrets, givin' up her hurts and lettin' it be known when she's got just a little more push in her. It's taken a bit of listening, but Kaylee doesn't feel so alone no more. What with every little touch makin' the ship more full of love, both girls are feelin' things are just the way they oughta be.

xXx

_Makes her a home._

xXx_  
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Zoë never hated the Alliance, not till the day they took her family's ship.

All started when her uncle went and got himself bound by law, brought up on a charge of murdering a man they'd never so much as heard of. Didn't matter none to the lawmen or the bureaucrats. He got off, eventually, after port records proved their ship hadn't been docked there for more'n a day by the time the man was killed. But by then it was too late. Ship had already been sold off by the government to pay for his defense. Was no matter to them that it was home and livelihood both to an extended family of over a dozen folk. So she'd watched the place she'd been born on, where she'd lived out her whole life, get auctioned off like just another scrap of metal, and she learned to hate, and hate hard.

After that, she was determined not to call anyplace home.

Hadn't, either. Not in the years before the war, watching her family break up to settle down wherever they could find the space, or head back out into the black under somebody else's rule.

Sure hadn't found anyplace she wanted to call home during the war. Hard to feel at home when bullets were flying over her head, all manner of things blowing up around her.

It wasn't until after the war was over and done with, after she finally got tired of fighting and killing and went looking for him again that she realized it.

A home don't always have to be a place. Sometimes it's a person, a bond forged too dark and deep to bear thinking on.

She calls _Serenity_ home now not so much cause she loves his ship, but because for her, home is at his side.

xXx

_Madness?...It's love, in point of fact._

xXx_  
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It was his mama made him read that damn poem, way back when.

Most of the time, she was the soul of practicality, always told him she didn't have time for dreamin' once he was born, way he tore 'round the place.

But she'd had one dream, long time ago, and she had a collection of books that spoke to that, all about ships and sailing. Through water or the black, hadn't mattered to her, she ate 'em all up and wanted more. So there she was, a landbound ranch girl, dreaming of the sea and the sky.

He couldn't blame her for takin' up with a ship's captain as had landed on Shadow for a week and ended up stayin' three months. Charming as the day was long, way she described him, with a strength of character that stole her breath away. Hell, Mal wouldn't even be here if she hadn't. And he'd had no shortage of men around willing to play daddy, what with all the hands on the ranch. Weren't like he could miss a man he'd never known.

Still though, he wonders sometimes if it was those books of hers that put a passion for flying in his head, gave him the idea to set up a ship of his own once the war was over and his blood had a yearning for freedom. Or if maybe it ain't something bone-deep, some kind of legacy.

All he knows now is that bein' grounded would kill him, suck the air out of his lungs just the same as if he were drowning. It ain't even being able to run that's got such a hold on him. It's the pure freedom of her, the promise of _Serenity_ that's there beyond the metal and moving parts. Long as he's with her, there's nothing he can't do, nowhere he can't get to.

There's been times when he thought that's what drew the crew to her too, made 'em stay on even when work wasn't coming and every damn thing seemed to go wrong. That's what he likes to think, really. That they make the choice to stick around for love of the ship, for the freedom she means.

But it's not any choice or desire of her own that's brought his albatross back on board. It's just him, and his damned way. And it ain't freedom they're flying to now cause of it.

He knows, in his darker moments, that a love of the sky's not all he inherited from his father. He's got that charm too, only in him it's a death sentence. It's gorram madness, but they'll follow him into certain death, even now. For him, people always do.

xXx

_Something a good deal more dangerous._

xXx_  
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Stirrings.

She's felt them for so long, she can hardly remember. Or maybe she can, but the memories aren't hers, aren't real. She doesn't always know, makes it hard to quantify.

But some things – some things are certain.

The sense of security, the anchor to her mind and tether to her sanity.

The protection, from the second the box poured out its false smoke. A sense of rage _for_ her, never at her but on her behalf, time and time again.

Trust, even when it wasn't warranted, even when it went against all logical parameters. Even when she was just the voice of the ship.

Belief beyond reason, so strong it had lives laid on it and still didn't snap.

A quality, bathed in bleached sunlight, that's multifaceted, intriguing. One she blends in her mind, tasting different definitions in turn. Desire to avenge her. Sympathy, and empathy. A touch of longing. A willingness to do anything, passed in glances. Maybe it wasn't meant, didn't even know it was being told, but she heard.

She heard, and it's stirred her from head to feet, gives her faith and strength and purpose now as she takes her turn.

The definition she likes best is Love.


End file.
